Bon Idée
by cemeteriesoflondon
Summary: “One day this won't be so hard.” An apparently much desired conversation of sorts between Tony and Ziva. We all want to know what's going on inside her head. Post Good Cop, Bad Cop.


_Gah, I was going to leave the ranting and rambling for the end of this, but I just can't seem to help myself. This is the first fanfiction I've written since 2007 and my first NCIS one. I have written nothing but essays for school since then, either, so I'm sorry if I'm completely rusty in a way that makes you roll your eyes. Hard. Writing this was difficult and I think it may show. Maybe a little inconsistent? I don't know whether to count it as Tiva or not because there's only hints at feelings of more than friendship but it's... loosely implied. I'm a massive Tiva fan but I tried not to get too out of control. I've actually been working on this since Wednesday. It's a totally __original idea. Seriously though, the episode was the best so far and I kind of couldn't help myself. I'm a little insecure about this because I have a hard time putting everything into coherent sentences so I may not have portrayed my ideas the best way I could. I swear, now, I will stop putting you off reading this. Give it a go. _

_Thanks to Mulysa (go read her fics, now... or at least after you finish this) for fixing my mistakes. Writing at 5am isn't the best idea.  
_

_The title I borrowed from Regina Spektor. As well as a couple of ideas, which if you look up the lyrics (I'd recommend it - Regina Spektor is amazing), is kind of ironic.  
_

_Disclaimer: I hate disclaimers. Do people really think anyone's going to claim they own NCIS? Sigh. I do not own NCIS; if I did I would prove that Tiva would not ruin a perfectly good show._

Bon Idée

She was sitting outside when he found her. The look on her face, it was not one he was able to wholly comprehend; a discordant fusion of relief, anguish, fatigue and a snarl of other emotions. The bad outweighed the good and he was sure that was her perspective, too. It was how he was viewing things, lately. He was drawn to her; he had to talk to her. They hadn't spoken in depth since the peace offering in the bathroom and now he couldn't stand more time of only having his assumptions about her state. He wanted to help - he was drawn. The compulsive pull of months of uncertainty and doubt. The pull of years of partnership and friendship and...

She was tense. Not unusual for her controlled nature, but this, this was so much different. She was stiff, rigid; on edge, less than when she first was brought home to NCIS, but more so than the months leading up to the events. But she wasn't looking around for danger, she was staring straight ahead, apparently preoccupied by her thoughts. He didn't want to startle her, so he stepped into her field of vision and walked towards her slowly. She sighed and glanced at him to acknowledge his presence. She knew he would want to talk at some point, though she was hoping he would wait. He sat down next to her, but didn't say anything. She didn't see his reaction to her attempt at suppressing the minor flinch that had become a reflex, her eyes were back to staring in front of her. Talking to Gibbs had freshened everything that she was trying to repress and she hated her reactions.

Tony hoped this wouldn't end badly. She was guarded, and she had never been open about her emotions, how could he expect her to want to talk now? She'd probably rather talk to Gibbs; surely he'd be more comforting in his own way than Tony. Maybe she'd rather not talk at all. Even for Ziva, however, this was a lot to keep inside and he could only hope she'd realise this. None of this would ever be normal, but he wanted to help her move forward as much as he could, even if it meant sitting next to her, not speaking. Just to give her the option.

She broke the silence, her voice low and bordering monotonous. He wondered how many people had offered to talk before he gathered the courage. "You know I do not want to talk about this."

"I know," he reiterated, "but I hoped I'd be in luck."

Ziva turned her head and shifted her eyes to his, making contact for the first time - still, mixed emotions. "You think it would be lucky to hear what happened, what I am thinking? Your standards of luck are very low, in that case."

Tony realised how what he had said sounded. He looked down, rubbed his eyes and sighed. He looked up and met reluctant eyes. "I... I am actually terrified to hear what happened, but if hearing it can help you, then yes, I am lucky to hear it... and your thoughts? I would give anything to hear your thoughts, Ziva. I want to understand, I want to see you comfortable."

Ziva closed her eyes and looked down. "If you think that hearing me talk will do that, you are wrong. It will do nothing but burden you. If I can do anything, it is not subjecting you to all of this. I am starting to believe I will be okay again; I do not need anyone to lean on. I have dealt with my problems myself my whole life."

Those words. Fuck. She seemed so nonchalant about everything and he actually wished it was because she was hiding how she felt. An ambivalent feeling told him this was, or at least had been, her reality. Her life thus far had been a course of training, kills and violence while the time for dealing with emotions was somewhere between loading guns and pulling the trigger. Did she know she didn't have to keep her thoughts to herself anymore? That the constant stream of offers to talk were genuine, or did she see them as a sign of relief for her safety, but nothing more?

He hadn't formulated a response, so Ziva continued, "What will talking do, anyway? Make me relive what I do not want to relive? There is a reason I did not speak about Africa to the counsellor. What does she know, in the end? She would have spent her life in an office telling people they are strong. I regret that impression of strong because I was never going to allow myself to be captured alive. I did not mean to survive. They were never coming to find me, anyway."

Her voice dropped an octave lower at the last sentence and Tony wasn't oblivious to it. Her father, of course her father and Mossad; those whom she had strived to impress for so many years hadn't expected her return and hadn't cared much more than for any other person on a mission. She'd, in some small case, wanted to believe her father would show she could trust him, she could believe he was the man no one else could see and she was left to die. He appreciated the dynamic of his team just that much more after the silent insight into Ziva's thoughts. "We are not like them, Ziva. I know you know that," Tony said, expecting, but partly hoping, for confirmation.

She closed her eyes and looked down, opening them again as she nodded, "I know, Tony, I do, but it does not change much. I was raised to kill. I was raised not as a daughter, but as a number whose death would be not much more than a number. I was raised under pretense and I hate that it has taken so long for me to realise this." Her words were starting to tighten her throat and she had nothing more to say without internal sutures ripping and tears flowing. There had been enough tears, today. Gibbs may have seen her cry on more than one occasion, but she refused to start in front of Tony. Apologies may have been a weakness here, but tears were from where she was. Talking so soon was making her ache in a way that had dulled since her return; too soon. It was too soon.

Tony watched her face as it tightened and he knew to stop. Emotions were secret territory for her and he had gotten so much more from her than he really ever expected. Would it help her, though? Hearing her confessions, what she was keeping on her shoulders, on her mind, was not worth anything while it was hurting her unless she was feeling the tiniest fraction better. But how would he know if it helped? Nothing much was going to change straight away; this was going to be gradual on a huge scale. Everything had changed. Interactions between everyone had been, in one way or another, affected because of the oppression that was Ziva's return to Israel and her disappearance. Tony could only hope that this, this heart-clenching realisation would contribute to something. She was hurt on so many levels and his stomach clenched at the thought of what both Eli David and Saleem and his men had put her through. _What did she feel?_

He looked at her, searching her face. She was staring ahead again, her body still tense but her face relaxing. What was she thinking? Was she regretting what she told him? That wouldn't explain why she was still sitting next to him. Maybe she was ignoring him in hopes he would leave? He wouldn't. He wouldn't leave unless she asked him. At this point he would do almost anything she asked; it was all he could do – to do his best to respect her wishes. He needed her to know that she could trust him. And not only him, but the people she worked with who would do anything to see her eyes lighten a little. They didn't know the right words; he didn't know the right words, so he stared at her face, looking for signs of anymore discomfort whilst trying to think of the perfect words. They didn't come and after a while he looked away and followed what she was doing: staring again, still.

It wasn't long before he felt her hand be placed on his forearm, but not in a way of panic. She was comforting him and he couldn't help but feel guilty. Ziva stared at his face, waiting for him to turn his head and stare back. He did and he got a glimpse of her sad eyes, but there was something the tiniest, almost unnoticeably different about them. After a long moment of silence, she spoke, her voice no different than before, it was still bordering meek, but what she said gave them the most infinitesimal shot of hope. "It will be okay. I can speak no more but one day, I will be able to talk to you about this. It is hard now, and it will be for a while to come, but we have seen how things change. I am... a probie, I am a part of NCIS. That is a sign, yes? One day this won't be so hard."

"I hope so," he said quietly and she nodded and looked ahead again, keeping her hand on his arm. It was all he needed. Something had helped and she was starting to trust herself and others enough to say out loud that the future was one of change and healing. It was so much in itself, saying something out loud. Thoughts that were vocalised always seemed to become so real. Hopes and thoughts and wishes that were kept inside hurt less when nothing happened. Ziva, who had been through more than most people could handle, was not okay. She, however, was changed. There was the faintest spark of belief somewhere that had been both missing and undesired for months.

These gestures, these words, they were more than he expected and what they both, what they all needed, the small words of belief that translated into something huge. It all did, so Tony put his hand over Ziva's and sat with her.

--

_I'm all but insane with worry that everyone will hate this, right now. Ha, celebrate good, old insecurity. I tried to stay in character but, I think it started to shift. I'm not sure how well I really got my point across, but, in a couple of lines, Ziva had absolutely no one to trust. As well as nothing for which to live. That has got to do a lot to a person, even someone trained like she was. Of course, I have never been in a situation so huge like this, but I have had times where I have told someone how I was feeling, what was going on and had it blow back in my face. Your ability trust just gets smaller and anything that gives you some hope is a big thing. I hope, if that wasn't obvious, I cleared some things up._

_I left the ending a little open. It could stand on its own, and for now it will, but if the mood ever strikes me again after a particularly thought inducing episode, I may add to this. Depends what people, and what I, want, I guess.  
_

_I would love to hear your thoughts, of course. I'll only bite if you do. _


End file.
